


I don't think coffee is my calling...

by RebMax12



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After Hours, Coffee shop romance, I think that's about it, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, My First Fanfic, Mystrade later on, Romance, Some smut later maybe..., fluff mainly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 02:03:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2490434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebMax12/pseuds/RebMax12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coffee shop romance fic.<br/>John is a student at St. Bart's Uni and struggling with finances so he gets a job at a local café to earn some money. Little does he know that becoming a barista is no mean feat, and when struggling he pleads with Sherlock to help. When Sherlock agrees to tutor him before the café opens, romance starts to blossom. Can the two make it work? Especially when The Yard try to recruit Sherlock as a detective? Johnlock fluff mainly, maybe some smut later..? Some Mystrade too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions over coffee

**Author's Note:**

> First fic guys! All mistakes are my fault, I apologise. Please leave comments and give me pointers! Thanks x

_This is the most ridiculously difficult thing I have ever done in my life_ thought John as he tried, in vain, to make a semi-decent brew, _and I survived Army brat bootcamp._ He placed another metal jug under the coffee machine, _here’s me thinking I’d be making cups of every-day coffee in standard mugs for little old ladies who have all the time in the world to sit around and wait for their beverage, but no, here I am trying to master 37 different types of hot drink all in different cups for severely impatient customers as part of my initiation into becoming a barista!_ He sighed and looked back at the sleek, imposing coffee machine that glinted maliciously in the light of the mid-day sun pouring through the wide-pane window. He had already burnt himself. Twice. And it was only half past nine. John had seen the advert whilst passing the shop’s window and had decided to try his hand at becoming a waiter-come-barista. The café, which had recently seen resignations from some of its most experienced staff, was a small, cosy-to-the-point-of-almost-becoming-shabby affair, with well-worn wooden tables and an eclectic mix of straight-backed chairs, long leather sofas, squashy armchairs and petite cushioned stools. A long serving bar ran across the entire length of the back wall where a startling array of machinery displayed itself proudly. John had done some form of waiting on before, and after a violently short interview with the owner; a man so eager for John to start he was bordering on desperate, John embarked on his trail run into becoming a barista. Which, quite frankly, wasn’t going well. He hadn’t suddenly had an epiphany and decided coffee was his calling, John, as a 19 year old Med student studying at St. Bart’s University of Medical Science, needed the money. What with all his cash going towards books and bills there was not a surplus left over for food. His momentary lack of concentration resulted in yet another burn as hot, frothy milk bubbled over the metal jug he was heating it in to make a latte. The gentle hum of the café was pierced by the four letter profanity that ripped from John’s mouth and caused every head to turn in his direction. John gasped and ducked behind the bar, a red-grapefruit-coloured blush creeping up his neck and into his hairline. He looked over to his left to find Greg Lestrade, his teacher for the day and newfound friend, shaking with badly suppressed laughter. “I do believe the sky just turned blue for a moment there, mate. Try not to give all the customers a heart attack while you’re on will you? It’s bad for reputation” he teased good-naturedly. “It’s this bloody machine! It’s out to get me I swear!” replied John heatedly, giving the machine a slight kick for good measure. Greg simply laughed and shook his head “you’ll get the hang of it soon mate, don’t worry. You should’ve seen Anderson when he first started! Gave himself nigh on third-degree burns and every coffee he made was as black as tar.” John grimaced, he could well believe it. He had been working at the café for almost two hours now and he was already better at making drinks than Anderson. And that wasn’t saying much. “Not to sound hypocritical but HOW did he get a job here?!?!” he asked, incredulous. Greg sighed “well, he IS dating the boss’ daughter, Miss Sally Donovan, so, you know, connections…” he swept his hand in a grand gesture as he trailed off “He’s not strictly speaking on the waiting team but he’s very keen”. John grimaced again as Greg laughed and it was at that moment that a dark haired, blue eyed sexbomb decided to stroll casually through the door.

“WHO is THAT?!?!” John breathed, trying to tear his gaze away as the perfect stranger loosened a midnight blue scarf from around his alabaster neck. “That, my flustered friend, is Mr Sherlock Holmes. The town psychopath” he crescendoed in teasing, allowing Sherlock to hear as he sauntered over to the bar rolling up his black dress-shirt sleeves. “High functioning sociopath” Sherlock’s low baritone rumbled “honestly Gary, do you research!” he winked at John who was trying to stifle a laugh at Greg’s indignant face. Sherlock dipped his head as he headed towards the backroom to find an apron. “He…he works here?” John squeaked, eyes wide. “Started yesterday” came Greg’s reply, as he strode to the end of the counter for a clean cup “two new greenies, ah…what fun!” Greg ducked into the backroom and Sherlock chose that moment to reappear in a brown shin-length apron secured around his narrow waist. He stalked across to the espresso machine and proceeded to make a prefect Espresso Coretto, splashing Cognac into the miniature cup with an expert flick of the wrist before sliding it across the bar to a broad-shouldered business man in a pin-striped suit who hadn’t even opened his mouth to order. The man widened his eyes and downed the drink before pulling out his wallet. “Please, no charge!” said Sherlock shrugging “No charge for the ones I get right”. The man slowly lowered his arm before re-pocketing his wallet and striding out the door, not having said a word since entering the café. John looked across at Sherlock shocked, questions whizzing through his head like flies through a beam of sunlight. He opened his mouth but Sherlock interjected “-it would be rather appreciated if Lestrade was not informed of what has just transpired” he whispered conspiratorially a glint in his eye “I’m not supposed to hand out freebies…or” he added as an afterthought “terrorise the customers with my deductions”. He looked at John with a bemused expression. John huffed a laugh “your secret is safe with me” he promised, an impressed look rearranging his features. Sherlock nodded and turned back to the coffee machine apparently satisfied.

For the next 2 hours or so the café was so busy with the mid-day rush that John didn’t have a chance to talk to Sherlock again until around 2 o’clock. He caught up with the brunette while he was drying the mugs in preparation for the next round of frenzied customers, estimated to arrive at around 3 o’clock or so Sherlock ‘deduced’. He had continued in much the same fashion as he had that morning, guessing the customers drink of preference with ease and making them a prefect version of said beverage, the only difference from that morning’s episode being Sherlock was now charging people, probably due to that fact that a hassled Greg was swooping about checking on their progress before flying off to do this or that. John flicked his blue eyes over to the lanky 20-year-old who was engrossed in cleaning down the various parts of the shot machine “how do you do that?” asked John flushing red when Sherlock’s eyes landed on him. “How do I do what specifically? My deductions or how do I make a killer latte?” he smirked. “The latter actually” replied John with a smile “I’m curious about the former but that might have to wait.” Sherlock grinned “a true artist never reveals his secrets”. “I’ll tell Greg about this morning” warned John. “What do you want to know?” quipped Sherlock, a mischievous glint in his eye. John laughed “the basics, the technicalities, the flourishes, all of it, I want to know you…yourrr techniques” he gabbled. Sherlock gazed off thoughtfully. “Teach me?” John pleaded “I’m a quick learner, hard-working, intelligent, I’m no Anderson.” A slight smile played around Sherlock’s mouth as John continued “I’ll do anything; your night shifts, the dishes, the customer toilets, I’ll lock up every night for a month. Please Sherlock, otherwise I’ll be out of a job, never mind how desperate they are for staff…” “-ok” Sherlock cut in, his eyes landing to focus on John’s “but I want you in bed…” he let the sentence hang, John’s eyes widening in surprise as his heart stuttered in his chest regarding the man’s impassive face “…early, we start at six o’clock tomorrow. Meet me out front, sharp.” John’s body relaxed as Sherlock turned on his heel, but not before John saw the trace of a cheeky smile flit across his lips “Six o’clock! Bring it on Sherlock…bring it on…”


	2. Lesson number 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's first tutoring session with Sherlock goes rather smoothly...

John stood in front of the café at 5:57am, waiting nervously for a mop of dark, curly hair to come sweeping round the corner. It was getting colder and a brisk autumn breeze stirred John’s blond hair as he turned his jacket collar up against the chill. At 6am on the dot, Sherlock strode up to the door, coat flapping open slightly, collar turned up with the same characteristic midnight blue scarf wrapped around his neck. John sighed, _the only problem with the way Sherlock Holmes looks_ he thought to himself _is that he knows exactly how good he looks_.

Sherlock inclined his head at John before unlocking the café door and turning the lights on above the bar, allowing the rest of the café to remain only in the pale morning light. He strode across to the thermostat and turned the heating on before shrugging off his coat and scarf and rolling up his deep purple dress shirt sleeves to above his elbows. However it was what he did next really surprised John; Sherlock walked over to the big stereo sitting in the corner of the room and turned it on, Nickelback ‘photograph’ flooding through the overhead speakers. The action was so casual and relaxed that John was momentarily taken aback. Sherlock turned the volume down so they would be able to talk over the music before sweeping behind the bar with a sly wink leaving John a little more than _just_ surprised.

John walked through the doors to the storeroom to grab an apron and when he re-entered the main body of the shop, he found that Sherlock had lined up various porcelain mugs across the counter. “What-” began John but Sherlock cut him off with a small smile and an inclination of the head that clearly meant _sit down and don’t talk_. John closed his mouth and obliged. “There is little point in teaching you the expert flourishes and flashy tricks a barista should have up his proverbial sleeve if you haven’t grasped the fundamentals first” Sherlock stated, his deep voice reverberating through the shop, making shivers run a relay race down John’s spine. “In order to become a proper barista you need to be familiar with which coffee beans you’re using and which beverages you use them for” he continued, picking up a mug from the line in his slender fingers “Typica coffee beans” he proclaimed handing the mug to John who now realised that each cup was half-full of a different sort of bean. “The most common type of coffee bean produced worldwide. It is your standard coffee bean and is used for filter coffee which is served in that type of mug only” said Sherlock dropping his eyes to the cup clasped in Johns hands. He snapped his gaze back to John’s eyes “Memorise it, remember what it looks like and what is smells like. Then” he smirked, a gleam twinkling across his eyes “go make me a coffee”.

>>>>>>>>>> 

The next hour continued in a similar fashion, Sherlock telling John what type of bean was used for what beverage in which cup and then ordering John to make him said beverage. Sherlock would watch and advise while John produced the ordered coffee and he could see that the 19-year olds confidence was growing with every semi-decent cuppa he made. Occasionally if the coffee wasn’t completely up to scratch Sherlock would take John through the exact steps of how to make the drink before letting him try again but John was a fast learner and soon Sherlock could count on him to make a near-perfect latte, cappuccino, flat white, mocha and standard filter coffee.

>>>>>>>>>> 

7 o’clock was upon them before they realised it and with no small amount of regret, John and Sherlock stacked the used cups into the dishwasher. “Sherlock, can I ask you a question?” queried John. “Do you wish to ask an additional question or do you wish me to answer the question you have just asked?” quipped Sherlock, turning his head slightly towards John. John huffed a laugh “have you done this before? Worked as a barista I mean. It’s just…well…you’re really good…really good at making coffees and you seem to know what you’re talking about so I just figured you might have done this before…?” “No I haven’t. This is my first part-time job as a barista. However, I have researched and catalogued 306 different types of coffee bean on my blog. Thought it might be useful in the future, turns out I was right, as per usual.” He smirked as John’s eyes widened. The dishwasher clicked off and both men reached for the teatowel in tandem, hands momentarily touching. Sherlock recoiled and turned his head flushing slightly at the collar, “sorry” he mumbled as he grabbed another towel from the box under the sink. The two men made eye contact, the air between the shifting palpably. “Looks like we should get ready for opening time” suggested John, breaking eye contact and grabbing a tray. Sherlock shook his head as if trying to clear it, his brother’s words floating to the surface of his mind **_sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side, Sherlock._** _But I’m not…I couldn’t…John Watson?!?!...no I couldn’t…he’s not even…_ ** _My, my brother dear, it seems as if John Watson has undone you……._** _Get out of my head Mycroft! Now!_ And for the rest of the day Sherlock’s mind wasn’t exactly on the coffee.

At the end of the day, when the waiting staff were cleaning the shop down in time for closing, Sherlock found John wiping down the tables. He had a look of fierce concentration on his face; tongue sticking slightly out of the corner of his mouth as he scrubbed at a coffee ring on one of the white painted wooden tables and it took all Sherlock had not to laugh at the look on the man’s face. “After you’ve finished with that table can I ask you something?” John jumped as Sherlock’s baritone rumbled from behind him which made the older man smile. “Sure, Sherlock, what is it?” asked John regaining his composure. “Well, you see, I’m not working tomorrow so needless to say I won’t be able to tutor you tomorrow morning. Could I…er…could I give you my number so that we can arrange a date….in order for me to tutor you again of course” Sherlock cursed his ineloquence and stutterings. “Sure” replied John, the picture of ease and friendliness which immediately settled Sherlock’s frantic heart “here’s my phone, just type it in” he handed over a slightly battered Blackberry. Sherlock typed in his number and handed the phone back with a stiff nod before striding off to wipe down the espresso machine.

6:12pm

**The Science Of Deduction by Sherlock William Scott Holmes.**

 

Sherlock’s phone bleeped and when he read the text he nearly spat out his tea.

 

6:13pm

_You read my blog?!?!_

 

6:14pm

**You mentioned it to me! I have been gripped by curiosity all day!**

Sherlock chuckled under his breath

 

6:15pm

_So what do you think?_

 

6:18pm

**Amazing. Extraordinary. Quite Extraordinary.**

_BLEEP_

 

6:19pm

**You know you didn’t have to make an excuse to get my number, you could have just asked.**

 

This time Sherlock did spit his tea out, _how had he known…?_

6:21pm

_I don’t know what you mean!_

 

6:22pm

**Liar! You know exactly what I mean, don’t you Sherlock? ;)**

 

6:24pm

…

 

6:25pm

**Good Lord have I silenced the Great Sherlock William Scott Holmes, Master coffee and killer latte maker?**

 

6:27pm

_Stunned yes. Silenced no._

 

6:28pm

**Why are you stunned Sherlock? Hmm..?**

 

6:30pm

_Because you are remarkably astute for someone who is…not me._

 

6:32pm

**Haha. So you did want my number…?**

 

6:33pm

_Perhaps. Your blog doesn’t contain your contact details._

 

The minute Sherlock’s thumb hit send he realised his mistake.

 

6:35pm

**My blog eh Sherlock…? Can I take that to mean you’ve looked me up..?**

 

Oh well in for a penny in for a pound

 

6:37pm

_And down_ ;)

 

6:36pm

**I do believe you are flirting with me Mr Holmes!**

 

Screw it.

 

6:37pm

_And if I was?_

 

6:39pm

**I’d be a very lucky man. Are we meeting Thurs before work? See what else you can teach me?**

 

6:38pm

_Thursday it is._

 

6:39pm

**Well I’ll see you then.**

 

6:40pm

_Yes and I you._

 

6:41pm

**See ya Sherlock** :D

 

6:42pm

_Goodbye John. See you on Thursday._

 

Thursday, Sherlock knew, was going to be one interesting day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! And I hope you want to know what is going to happen on Thursday!   
> I already have a plan (yay!) for the next chapter so it will (hopefully) be much better and I'll be able to post it sooner too!   
> Thanks guys x


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